So, here on my arms are marks,
Marks I have made,
With blades of my inverse self
For messing up my body
For making my temple a living sacrifice to my demons
That here is my testament, that I may confess,
That I stood on a bridge of dilemma
For the demons of darkness,
Cut out my heart
Right out from my mouth
With my blood tasting like corroded iron
And the taste lingers on my tongue and soul for years
That when I smile, I want to frown inside
When I laugh, deep inside I want to cry
Deep inside,
I want to burn myself,
Turn to ashes
Die and be free
For ashes are not dead men
But bodies, flying in freedom.
KEMBA MARK.
2017.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
So, here on my arms are marks,
Marks I have made,
With blades of my inverse self
For messing up my body
For making my temple a living sacrifice to my demons
That here is my testament, that I may confess,
That I stood on a bridge of dilemma
For the demons of darkness,
Cut out my heart
Right out from my mouth
With my blood tasting like corroded iron
And the taste lingers on my tongue and soul for years
That when I smile, I want to frown inside
When I laugh, deep inside I want to cry
Deep inside,
I want to burn myself,
Turn to ashes
Die and be free
For ashes are not dead men
But bodies, flying in freedom.
KEMBA MARK.
2017.
This is a testament of boy facing depression.